Brothers at War ish
by Blue-Eyed Chocobo
Summary: Sequel to Ameri-who?. It started when England just wanted to shut America up. Now, America and Canada are at war...ish with each other, each getting even with the other until one finally admits defeat. -Limited- OCs include Quebec and Massachusetts.


**Chapter One: And the Seas turned to Cheese**

* * *

"Dis doesn't taste like maple syrup," Quebec said bluntly as he exhaled the smoke.

America stopped mid-sentence and looked across the small black table at the Canadian. "Uh, a-aha ha ha," he forced a laugh of reassurance. "You'll get to it," he said. "Just keep smoking, and I swear to you, the last part of it will blow your mind! Better than anything you've tasted before."

Quebec merely glared at him from under his brown, messy hair, but America just continued on with his spiel, whatever it was. He wasn't listening. He was just there for the free cigarettes and coffee.

He turned away to the left, crossing his legs lazily, and resting his right elbow on the table as he continued to smoke.

"Then Canada will never mess with me again!" America shouted triumphantly as he suddenly stood up, looking determinedly at a vague spot in the sky.

Quebec closed his eyes, took another long drag, and exhaled, undisturbed by America's excitement. He was always excited about something, anyways.

"Huh?" America looked down at Quebec when he noticed the lack of response he got from him. "And you, too, of course," he said, pulling the chair back to him and sitting down. "He'll never mess with you again either, but that won't happen if we don't team up. It'll be awesome! So, what do you think, huh? Great plan, isn't it?"

Quebec turned back to him, scratching his cheek where already a bit of stubble peaked out of his skin. It had been a long day with America promising grander and grander things to him, and yet, here they were outside a coffee shop nearing the end of the afternoon, and the "greatest maple syrup-flavoured cigarette" failed to deliver.

Quebec was about to say something but was interrupted by a loud barking. He narrowed his eyes as both he and America turned to the source of the sound. Quebec knew exactly who it was and who was with it.

The dog, a black and white Boston Terrier, stood ferociously a few feet away, barking and growing at the Canadian. Beside him was a man dressed in a similar uniform as America, save for a crimson shirt and a rifle strapped to his back across his chest.

Quebec stood up, glaring at him, his deep blue eyes now burning with hatred. And the man with the dog did the same, the barking and growling only intensifying the tense situation.

"Hm?" America looked wide-eyed innocently between Quebec and his state. "Hm? Oh, right! I should introduce you two. Quebec meet Massachusetts. Mass, meet Qu-"

"I _know_ who he is," Massachusetts replied steadily.

The two continued the staring contest, each trying to stare each other down, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking, and each hating him more because of it. After so many decades, their feud didn't need words anymore.

"Uh, well," America said cheerfully over the dog's relentless barking. "You two look like you need to talk about something, so I'll give you a bit of privacy, okay?" He knelt down to look at the dog at eye-level, but he was too busy barking at Quebec, as if voicing his owner's thoughts. America clapped once to try and get his attention. "C'mon, Harvey, let's go around the block!"

America walked over to Massachusetts and grabbed the leash out of his hand. "Yoink!" he said, running away with the dog, who tried to did his heels in, still barking at Quebec.

America managed to pull the dog around the corner of the block and hid behind the building, picking up and holding him so that he would quiet down. "Shh, Harvey," America whispered as he leaned forward to peek over the corner. The dog whined a bit and tried to get free, but America managed to keep him still. When Harvey finally settled down, America watched the province and state carefully.

After a few seconds, Quebec broke the stare-off. "Tch, I don't need dis crap dis early in de year," he said. He took the (maple-less) cigarette butt out of his mouth, flicked it at Massachusetts, and began walking away calmly, muttering, "C*lisse de tabarnak..."

Massachusetts stomped on the cigarette butt and crushed it with his foot. "Yeah?" he yelled, his voice mixed with a slight growl. "Well, same to yaw mawma, pal!"

Quebec continued to walk away, holding up his right hand in a signal to suggest that Massachusetts should do something vile to himself.

"Friggin' Hab..." Massachusetts said under his breath.

America, with the Boston Terrier on his heels, quickly came back running, shouting "Hey! Wait!" to Quebec, but the province continued north undeterred. America gave a heavy sigh of frustration as he flopped down in a chair. "Great. Now what do I do?"

"Hmph, you don't need him," Massachusetts said. He took the rifle off his back and set it on the ground, leaning it against the table, as he took Quebec's seat across from America.

"What did you say to him, Mass?" America slouched forward on the table and rested his head on his forearms.

"Nothin'. He's just moron," he said, eyes narrowing in disgust at the thought of his arch rival in hockey. "And I'll thank ya not to bring that douche into my neighborhood again, chief."

"_Your_ neighborhood?" America looked up at the state. "I thought this was Washington's."

"Nah. That jerkoff's been building these cawffee shops all over the place. Got home one day, and here it is," Massachusetts said, waving a hand vaguely at the coffeehouse beside them. Taking the half cup of coffee Quebec left behind, Massachusetts flung it over his shoulder, spilling the overpriced caffeine all over the concrete street, which the Boston Terrier almost immediately took to cleaning up with his tongue. "Why were you even talking to that frenchie anyway?"

America sat up then leaned back, arms limp, and head lolling back. "Was trying to get him to help me get revenge on Canada," he mumbled, almost sounding like Canada himself without America's usual zest.

"That's it? Why didntja just ask one of us? I mean, if it's just revenge, I'll gladly help ya out."

"No... my plan needed an inside man," America explained half-heartedly. "Quebec was my only option, because all the other provinces didn't have a reason to help me."

"Then change your plan; what's the problem 'ere?"

"Problem is I don't HAVE another plan." America's eyes widened when he finished his sentence, suddenly realizing that he really didn't have a plan. "Haaaaa-aaaaaah!" He whined.

Massachusetts crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. "Whenevuh I need ta get revenge on someone, I just destroy the thing they love most. Remembuh what happened when that tea-drinking retahd tried to mess with me? Ha! Drink that, mothuh fuc-"

"THAT'S IT!" America yelled, quickly springing back to life and pounding a fist on the table. He reached over the table to grab the state by both shoulders and started shaking him fiercely. "That's it! That's it! You're a genius! That's it! AHAHAHA!"

* * *

Canada pushed a button on his answering machine and walked away to the fridge as it started to play.

"You have 3 new messages," The machine began in a robotic feminine voice. "Friday, July 30th. 12:34PM."

Canada took out a bottle of beer out of the fridge and closed the door.

"Hi, Canada."

Canada held the bottle out to Kumajirou on the kitchen counter, who opened it by biting off the cap.

"This is England. About what you were asking me earlier…"

Canada patted Kumajirou's head, then took a sip as he listened to the message.

"I thought it over and I've decided to let go of the current British General Governor at the end of her term."

Canada perked up, smiling, punching the air in celebration.

"And after that, I'll let you put one of ours in charge," England's message continued.

Canada deflated, leaning against the counter. That didn't change anything!

"Well...um, bye now."

Canada stared at the answering machine. That's it? Canada growled in frustration and took another sip of beer. England didn't do anything different, in fact, he didn't do anything at all.

"Next message," The answering machine continued. "Friday, July 30th. 4:24PM."

"HAHAHAHA! Take that! This'll teach you to mess with such awesomeness! Never forget- THE HERO ALWAYS WINS! HAHAHAH!"

Canada raised an eyebrow at the machine in confusion.

"Next message. Friday, July 30th. 4:25PM."

"By the way, look out your window...VICTORY IS MINE! HAHAHAHA!"

Canada finished off his beer at his own leisure before picking Kumajirou up and heading out the door. Kumajirou climbed onto the back of his head as Canada yawned and stretched, feeling the warm rays of the setting sun.

"CANADA!" Someone shouted his name.

Canada looked to his right and a distraught citizen in a blue uniform with "Kraft" on it ran up to him. "I'm so sorry, Canada. I couldn't stop him. I'm so sorry..."

"What's wrong?" Canada asked, getting more and more suspicious.

"The shipment from across the border was attacked. I couldn't stop him. There was just so many o-"

"Wait, what?" Canada blinked. "The shipment? The _Kraft_ shipment! The _KD_ shipme-"

"Uh-oh," Kumajirou said, pointing his bear claw towards the Hudson Bay ahead of them.

Canada ran as hard as he could towards the bay, muttering, "Please, please, please, please, please, please," but no amount of "please" could reverse what had happened. When he got to the beach of the bay, he fell to his knees, sinking into the soft, warm sand.

"NOO!" He yelled. "My cheese!"

The Husdon Bay had become yellow with cheese, with macaroni floating everywhere, and America's laugh haunting Canada.

Canada pounded his fist in the sand. "You bastard! You bastard!"

Carefully, Kumajirou climbed off of Canada and went to the edge of the cheese-filled water. He took a pawful of watery KD, sniffed it, then began eating it, as Canada continued to pound his fist in the sand.

Canada was motionless for a while. Then, he stood up somberly, staring out at his month's worth of KD idly moving around in the Hudson Bay with the sun setting behind it, setting everything aglow. "I'll get you back..." he muttered, his eyes shadowed by his hair. "Brother."

* * *

**A/N:**

Why do Quebec and Massachusetts hate each other so much? Well, the Montreal Canadiens (also known as the Habs) and the Boston Bruins are bitter rivals and have a long time history stemming back from their beginnings, so a Montrealer and a Bostonian wouldn't make the best of friends.

And if you're unfamiliar with what Massachusetts is talking about, search Boston Tea Party.

(Did anyone notice that I wrote "Neighbourhood" without the U when the yanks said the word? Anyone? *crickets*)


End file.
